


blue confidante

by cosmicpoet



Series: shuake week 2019 [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Everyone has a red thread around their fourth finger that will, one day, intertwine with their soulmate's.Everyone except Goro Akechi.





	blue confidante

_Sometimes, stories become legend because they’re true. Accepted into the lore of humanity itself, a common thread of knowledge that simply _is_; the simple, objective truth, without oral tradition branching off into the subjective. It has been as such for years, that everyone is born with a tight red thread around their fourth finger, a pulsating not-quite-vein, prominent and thick, until they meet their soulmate, and their threads will intertwine in a quiet ceremony that sings to the world a serenade of “I found you, at last.”_

Goro has heard the story so many times, that his mother cried when he was born. The labour was easy, and he likes to imagine that she at least held him for a moment before the realisation dawned upon her that he was an abnormal child - a cursed child - and then she cried and cried until the midwives took him away and isolated him so that she could cope with her grief alone.

Sometimes, he wishes that he’d been born simply without a soulmate thread at all. Even though he’d still be a societal outcast, it wouldn’t be as obvious, as sickeningly isolating as it is now; strangers stare at him on the street, murmuring under their breath, and he clenches his fist close to his side whenever people notice that he does, in fact, have a soulmate thread.

It’s just blue.

He wonders whether he should have been born entirely this way. Perhaps everything would have been better if he’d never been alive at all, wrapped up tightly in a linen-bundle of blue string, with the umbilical cord around his neck - breathing wouldn’t be so hard, now, if he’d never got the chance to do it in the first place. 

But of course, the world has already established itself as unkind, and Goro is forced to live. As much as his mother’s suicide note told him that it wasn’t his fault, he can’t help but believe that if only he was _normal, _she could have lived unburdened by the shame of knowing him - it’s how he knows everyone else sees him, unimportant, cast down by society, unloved and completely, completely alone. His father never had anything to do with him. The institutions through which he was tossed around, whilst cruel and traumatising, taught him how to isolate himself and keep himself quiet, never having to draw attention to himself for fear of rejection.

Rejection is so much worse than outright, blatant hurt.

Now, he’s eighteen, fending for himself in the same world that has beaten him down at every turn. Everything about his image is carefully crafted, from the way he covers up his freckles with light makeup, to the way he refuses to be seen outside without wearing gloves. Even now, in the heat of the television studio, he won’t bare his truth to the world; he has to lie just to stay afloat.

“So,” the interviewer says, “the question on everyone’s lips. Has the Detective Prince found his soulmate yet?”

“Ah, well I wouldn’t want to divulge too much about my personal life,” Goro replies, rehearsed and flat.

“Is that why you wear gloves?”

“I’ll know when the time is right for me to start searching for my soulmate. Right now, I have to put all of my focus into my detective work. People call me the Detective Prince, but as flattered as I am, I have to maintain my investigations to establish myself as reliable to the general public, don’t you think?”

“What a studious answer! I’m sure that any woman would be lucky to have you as her soulmate.”

“I’m flattered,” Goro purses his lips and gives a fake, pleasant smile.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have time for. Join us after the break when we’ll be back with the latest news on the…” 

Goro tunes out. It doesn’t matter to him, anymore. And of course, he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t flattered that an entire audience of people cheered at the prospect of being his soulmate, but he knows that it’s built on such a shaky, unstable foundation. He’d lose his fame, his respect, any semblance of false love, the _moment _they realised that he was marked with a curse that means that the universe himself thinks he’s impossible to love.

He doesn’t want to go back to his apartment just yet. The thick crowds of the city centre aren’t too appealing, either, and he finds himself wandering onto different trains, the ache to run away sticking fast in his chest. By the time he ends up traversing the backstreets of a little place called Yongen-Jaya, he’s exhausted, and thankful when he stumbles upon a small coffee shop - _Café Leblanc -_ still open despite the sun traipsing down into dusk.

“Good evening,” he says as he enters. The café seems to be small, but well stocked and maintained, and the only employee drums his fingers on the counter before he realises that he has a customer. Goro’s eyes trace down to his hand, just to see - he has to _know - _but there’s a small bandaid covering his fourth finger.

It’s no big deal. He probably just burned it on some hot coffee.

Right?

“Hi,” the man says, “what’ll it be?”

“Blend, please. I apologise for coming in so late. What time does your shift finish?”

“Whenever I collapse from exhaustion is purely up to fate.”

“Do you own this place?”

“No. But I live here. Upstairs,” he gestures to the stairs at the back of the café.

“Oh. It’s… quaint.”

“Mm,” the man hums, making Goro’s coffee with agile and capable hands. He hands it over with a smile that borders on being a smirk, and Goro wishes that he was normal, that he could brush hands with this man and the world would burst into recognition and acceptance.

Nothing happens.

Instead, the commercial break on the television finishes and the programme comes back on - it’s one of his prerecorded interviews, and he grimaces when he sees the barista make the connection between the famed Detective Prince and the dejected man reflected back at him from the hot coffee. 

“Hey, that’s you, right?”

“Ah, so you’ve found me out,” Goro smiles a little, “yes, that’s me. Goro Akechi. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Akira Kurusu.”

He’s about to shake Goro’s hand when the door opens and a blonde man walks in, shouting a loud and - in Goro’s opinion, obnoxious - greeting to Akira.

“Oh, hey Ryuji,” Akira says.

“I’ll be off, then,” Goro says, drinking his coffee in burning gulps, “thank you for your hospitality, Kurusu.”

He turns and leaves in almost a dissociative state, only coming back to normality once he closes his apartment door behind him. It hurts a lot more than it should, and honestly, he can’t even pinpoint _what _he’s feeling. Although it could be nothing more than a fleeting crush, there’s something stuck fast in his heart; he imagines Akira kissing him, softly, maybe even over the counter at Leblanc. He imagines Akira holding his hand and calling him _special, unique, beautiful. _He imagines that there’s another world, where there isn’t anything wrong with him, where he’s deserving of love.

His soulmate thread pulses and he feels sick as he rips off his glove and sees that it’s still blue.

Of course he can’t wish or dream himself into meaning something.

Over the coming weeks, he frequents Leblanc more and more. He learns that Ryuji is Akira’s best friend, and he imagines that they’re just courting themselves around the word _soulmate; _it’s inevitable, Goro thinks, that Akira will realise he’s in a body made to love, and one day he’ll walk in, hand in hand with Ryuji, and Goro will have to stop himself from throwing up there and then.

It only takes him a week, with his observant mind, to see that Akira is purposely covering up his own soulmate thread. Goro can think of a million explanations for this, but none of them change the fact that Akira is a man filled with beauty and love, the capacity to kiss his friends on the cheek when he sees them, to give free coffee to people struggling to pay, to listen to Goro talk about his day and seem _genuinely _interested.

No, Akira is just this way with everyone. There’s no way he could love someone like Goro, soulmate thread or not. In any lifetime, he’s far too good for him. The antithesis to Goro’s pathetic desperation to be needed; Akira simply _exists, _and people flock to him. 

So why does jealousy feel so much like giving up?

It hurts even more when Akira begins inviting him out. As much as he wants to call their little excursions _dates -_ to the aquarium, the jazz bar, the pool rooms, he knows that Akira is just a naturally friendly person, and this doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to Goro. Especially since their outings aren’t always exclusive to the two of them - it hurts every time they’re joined by Ryuji. Not to say that Goro doesn’t like him - sure, he’s loud and brash, but he’s got a good heart and Goro can respect that - but he’s just stung with bitter envy whenever he thinks that, inevitably, Akira will fall in love with Ryuji and leave him all alone.

It’s after a particularly exhausting day of wandering the underground mall that Goro leaves early, taking the train back to his apartment and trying to hold in his tears. He wants nothing more than to unite with Akira as one, as _soulmates, _but he’s only overfamiliar with the cold of his one-bedroom apartment, and the way it seeps into his skin like a terrifying reminder that he’ll always be alone. He looks at the photograph Akira took today, a bad-angle selfie of them both smiling as they tried on ridiculous outfits in some overpriced shop, and he bites his lip until he draws blood.

He can never be whole. But he can do the next best thing.

His mind aches, disjointed thoughts screaming, telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be a burden any more. There’s no way he can suddenly make the world accept him for who he really is, and before he can truly understand what he’s doing, he’s taking his gloves off with shaking hands and holding a sharp kitchen knife to the point where his knuckle connects with the rest of his hand. It’s going to hurt a _lot, _but he’s no stranger to pain, and there’s a significant part of him that will enjoy it for how much he deserves to hurt and be hurt in return.

Even as the blood pours, open and fresh, down his hand, he doesn’t stop - he’s feeling far too manic, flooded with adrenaline that numbs the pain, or, rather, saves it for later when he’ll have to live with the consequences of what he’s done. Right now, though, he feels a sense of accomplishment for having finally destroyed the part of himself that has separated him from normal society - his finger is still attached, at least, but there’s a large pool of blood and skin circling around the cut-out soulmate thread that lies on his kitchen counter.

Satisfied, he smiles, before everything hits him all at once and he runs to the bathroom, dry-heaving gulps of empty air. His phone beeps next to him, and he wearily picks it up, cringing at the fact that it’s a text from Akira.

**Akira Kurusu, 20:45: **just realised we didn’t eat anything today :/ i’m omw to yours with curry rn

Goro tries to reply, to tell him that it’s really no big deal, because _god _he doesn’t want Akira to see him like this and realise how cursed and unwanted he truly is, but his hands shake far too much and he just collapses against the bathroom wall.

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at his door. He hears Akira’s voice calling out from the other side, and some childish part of him thinks that if he stays silent and squeezes his eyes shut, Akira will go away.

“Hey, Goro, you in there?” Akira says, muffled through the apartment door.

He says nothing.

“The door’s unlocked, I’m gonna come in, okay? If you’re naked, put some clothes on. Or not,” he says, and Goro can practically _hear _the smirk on his face.

But there’s no time to enjoy Akira’s flirtatious nature, now. He scrambles to pull the hand-towel down from the rail, covering his hand with it as he hears Akira’s footsteps getting closer to the bathroom, his soft voice calling out his name with increasing concern.

“Goro,” Akira says, “are you in there? There’s blood on the floor. Are you in there? Can I open the door?”

“I’m fine,” he replies, shakily, “I just had an accident cooking.”

The door handle turns and he doesn’t have time, in his weak and exhausted state, to slam his body against it with enough force to shut it before Akira can enter the bathroom. He can’t even close his eyes, he’s frozen and forced to look at the comprehension that writes itself across Akira’s face as he realises that this is an anarchistic Hell of Goro’s own creation.

“What did you do?” Akira says. His voice is strangely calm.

“Nothing.”

“You did _something.”_

“No, I did what the world wanted me to do.”

“This is something to do with your soulmate thread, isn’t it?”

“Look at you, a better detective than me. It’s fine, Kurusu. Leave it.”

“No.”

“You broke into my house. I could call the police.”

“You could arrest me yourself. But you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Just a hunch. Let me see.”

Akira reaches for the towel that Goro is using to cover his hand, gently pulling it away, slowing a little as Goro winces at the feel of rough fabric against his fresh wound.

“Oh my god,” Akira says.

“I know. Save it, Kurusu. You had to find out some way or another that I’m cursed and loveless, I don’t need your pity or your shock or your hate.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. Everyone is. It’s no surprise that you wouldn’t understand, with your pathetically perfect pining for your best friend.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, come on, Kurusu,” Goro says, his teeth clenched, “it’s obvious to everyone that Ryuji is your soulmate.”

“What? No, Ryuji’s already found his. It’s not me. It… _couldn’t _be me, even if I wanted it to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you let me clean that up,” Akira motions towards the thick cut on his finger, and there’s honesty in his eyes. It makes Goro want to comply; it feels, for some reason, like Akira wouldn’t lie to him.

Which is a dangerous path to tread for someone who can’t be loved.

He lets Akira clean up the wound and, using the first-aid kit in his apartment that Goro has never touched, he bandages it up. Goro wishes he could hate the way that Akira plants a gentle kiss on the bandage when he’s done, so small that it’s only a trace of intimacy, and now he’s cursed with not only being unloveable, but with wanting more and more and more.

They sit together on the sofa in Goro’s living room, the air heavy with the anticipation of some sort of climax.

And then Akira takes off the plaster around his fourth finger. Goro almost can’t believe it when he sees something he’s seen for eighteen years of his own life - an unmistakeable blue soulmate thread wrapping all the way around Akira’s ring finger. Although, whereas Goro’s was dark and muted, Akira’s echoes beautiful like the sky, soft and airy, like he was never meant to be anything but this. 

There’s no way that Akira can be a mistake.

And there’s no way that he can be unwanted, because Goro wants him more than anything.

“I’m assuming yours was the same, right?” Akira says.

“I… yes. It was. I thought it was just me.”

“Me too.”

“So… could we be…?”

“I was hoping so.”

“I guess we’ll never know now, though,” Goro says, bitterly, “since I don’t even have a soulmate thread any more.”

“Does it matter?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Akira leans his head on Goro’s shoulder, “what do you think causes soulmates? The universe? God?”

“I don’t know.”

“Either way, I don’t want to submit to it.”

“I’m not following you.”

“If I love you - _and I do - _then it’s not because some asshole creator has made it so. It’s because I have free will.”

“But isn’t that just anarchy?”

“So what if it is?” Akira laughs, holding Goro’s uninjured hand.

“It’s like you were born to disrupt the order of life itself.”

“Maybe so.”

“But you know,” Goro says, hyperaware of the warmth of Akira’s hand in his own, “I wouldn’t really mind going along with you.”

“Then it’s settled. Fuck soulmates. We can be something more.”

It’s not a new chapter, it’s a whole new book. For the first time, Goro entertains the idea that he could be something other than cursed, discarded, the trash of society. Sure, he’s different, but the love that swells in his chest for Akira isn’t any less, in fact, it’s _more, _because they’ve carved it themselves in the face of adversity.

He never doubted that Akira was special. Maybe he can be special, too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a short story I wrote when I was like 17, and I thought it was a good AU for shuake! This one ended a lot happier than my original story...:)


End file.
